


Gypsy Wicked

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [23]
Category: Deadpool (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dancer Peter, First Kisses, First Meetings, Flirting, Gypsy Peter, Hurt Wade, Love at First Sight, M/M, Peter is a Little Shit, Prince Wade, Sass, Strangers to Lovers, Tumblr Prompt, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, dad tony, gypsy!au, kind of, pretty wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Wade is a nobleman in his lonely castle grieving the loss of his mother, not so much grieving the loss of his father, and hiding his scarred face behind a cloak and hood.Peter is the snarky, sassy son of the leader of a Romany clan, who has come to seek shelter within the castle walls.When Wade ventures down to the Gypsy camp to eat and perhaps watch the dancers, he is unprepared for Peter to dance the way he does, and with the drums driving a seductive beat in the background, the two fall into bed together.Its the first time in forever that Wade has felt wanted, like he doesn't have to hide, because Peter is about six shades of Gypsy Wicked, and Wade is head over heels.(As always, Spideypool is Andrew Garfield as Peter, Ryan Reynolds as Wade)(I am aware that some people consider "gypsy" a slur, but as long as it is Capitalized (ie Gypsy) like it is here in my fic (and apologies if I missed one or two), many Romany people have returned to using the term as a source of pride/identity/ reclaiming their cultural identity instead of letting people steal it and use it as a negative description.)





	Gypsy Wicked

_(For those of you who don’t know this about me– I love to belly dance and could practice/watch for hours. It is much more than a “Sexy dance” – there are cultural connotations that go back thousands of years, different styles of dances, different meanings to the different costumes they wear– its honestly lovely)(Much like the hula- its been demoted to a “sexy dance” in western culture, but it is just so much more than that)(In this fic it is definitely a seductive thing, but if you want to learn more, its seriously fascinating)_

_(I am also aware that some people consider "gypsy" a slur, but as long as it is Capitalized like it is here in my fic (and apologies if I missed one or two), many Romany people have returned to using the term as a source or pride/identity instead of letting people steal it and use it as a negative description. The word "Romany' is a general term, there are different cultures within the Romany culture, and Gypsy is one of them.)_

_*********************************_

 

“My Lord?” the servant hovered uncertainly by the door. “If I could interrupt…?” 

“Leave me be.” Wade shook his head, didn’t turn from staring into the fire. “Leave.” 

“But there are travelers seeking protection within the castle walls.” The servant persisted. “Only wanting to park their caravan for a few nights to wait out this storm.” 

“Send them on their way.” 

“My Lord.” The servants lips thinned in disapproval. “Even your father, as cruel as he was, would not have turned away someone simply wanting shelter from the storm.” 

“My father.” Wade rolled his eyes, hand flicking up to tug his hood further over his face. “You are correct about him being a cruel man.” 

“I will grant the travelers safety inside the walls, as long as they keep to the courtyard.” the servant decided, three decades as the former Lord’s advisor giving both the confidence, and the pull over the other servants, to make such a decision. 

“As you wish.” Predictably, Wade shrugged it off, waving his hand listlessly. 

“They are Gypsys, my Lord.” the older man continued. “Romany, you know? Entertainers and dancers, the lot of them. It would do you good to leave these gloomy rooms and see if they might put a smile on your face.” 

“Hmph.” Wade made a non committal noise and waved the servant off again. 

“You hide away in this room as if any one of us care about your incident.” softly, carefully, the servant keeping his voice low. “But we have raised you from a child, my Lord. Nursed you back from all sorts of incidents. This one is no different, hm?”

There was no answer from the huge chair pulled in front of the fire, so the servant bowed shortly, and closed the door on his way out. 

********************************

It was the noise from the courtyard that finally roused Wade hours later, and he hauled himself out of his chair and over to the window to look. 

Sure enough, seven different wagons had pulled into the open area behind the castles walls, taking shelter behind them for the duration of the storm building to the east. 

Music was playing, floating up to his rooms, the melody something piercing and lively and similar to the music he remembered from his childhood when the caravans use to come more often. 

Children ran around, shouting and cheering as they played, and several lovely– lovely enough to make Wade’s eyes widen– women chased after them, talking and laughing amongst themselves, happy to be out of the weather. 

The men were more serious, standing about in small groups, most likely keeping an eye out to make sure they wouldn’t be lured into safety, and then attacked by the guards. 

Gypsy’s were not normally well tolerated, not with most people unwilling to trust nomadic groups. Why would you roam when the safety of a castle and the Lord within promised you protection and food and a stable life? 

Wade’s father had had no issue with the Romany folk however, and Wade had no issue either. Regardless of his earlier irritation with the servant, the caravan of wanderers were more than welcome to stay in the circle of the castle walls for as long as they needed. Wade’s mother had been Romany, after all, his father had no right to refuse her people shelter.

When the smell of meat started wafting up to the window, strong and spicy, set off the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread, Wade leaned a little further out to breathe it in. 

It reminded him of what his mother used to cook, the taste too heavy for most in the castle, but delicious nonetheless, especially when Wade had been young. More nights than not he had mopped up thick, savory stew with slices of his mothers bread, and his father had allowed it until the sweet woman had passed. Then Wade had been forced to abandon all things about her culture and her past, and become the proper young Lord that he was supposed to be. 

His mother had been the velvet to his father’s iron fist, the one thing that kept him from being too hard on their only son, the buffer between Wade and the rage his father had never quite learned to tame.

After she had gone, all that rage had been unchecked, and Wade had paid the price with bruises and breaks and rapidly growing anger of his own. 

He had never settled into his role as royalty anyway, much more content to run wild on his horse and with his friends. His father had cursed his Gypsy blood, and Wade had cursed his noble blood and that had been the basis of every fight between the two of them. 

Wade missed his mother every day, and now, staring down at the Gypsy camp, he missed her even more. 

A hesitant glance in the mirror, a moment to pull his hood more firmly around his head, and Wade slipped down the stairs to the castle grounds, sticking to the corners to avoid being seen, before opening a side door and making his way outside.

Perhaps a little time with his mother’s people would soothe his heartache. 

**************************

If anyone noticed the tall man moving through through the shadows, hood over his head, cape held tightly around him, they didn’t say anything. 

When he ventured close to the fire, a woman with dark hair to her waist and an armful of bracelets smiled up at him and offered him a bowl of food, gesturing that he should sit and eat with them. 

Wade tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace as the scar along the right side of his face didn’t allow for much movement. The woman caught the stiff attempt, her eyebrows lowering in sympathy, a soft  _tsk_ from her lips, before she murmured something in the lilting tongue Wade remembered so well from his mother. 

He only caught, “lovely lamb”, “so hurt”, “handsome and sad” but she put a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly before moving on to serve the others around the campfire. 

The words made Wade’s heart hurt, so he hunched his shoulders and tried to eat hurriedly, already feeling as if coming down here had been a mistake. After the accident he hadn’t hardly left his rooms at all, and now he felt too exposed, too open and something like a panic attack started low in his gut, tightening around his stomach, freezing his throat so he thought might choke. 

The same woman who had given him food came by with wine, smiling encouragingly so he would take a drink, looking away politely when he had to tip his head back to drink. 

Wade appreciated the small kindness– and hated that she felt that she had to do it. He was so hideous now.

 _I need to get out of here._  

Just as Wade had gathered the strength to tear himself away from the warm fire and friendly people and retreat to his cold rooms, the music changed around them, the women that had been dancing with each other and the smaller children scattering to sit around the edges of the cleared area when five women came running out to dance in the circle, all wearing– well, nearly nothing, honestly, their stomachs on full display beneath sheer veils and their bare legs kicking out from the full skirts they wore. Several had cymbals on their fingers, and when the drums started playing they stepped through an obviously carefully choreographed dance. 

Wade knew from listening to his mother that this dance– this  _Raqs Sharqi–_ was more of a cultural dance, to celebrate this particular groups folklore and distinctive history. No  _Raqs Sharqi_  was alike between different Romany families, and even though the women dancing this particular one were  _stunning–_ their hips moving in a staccato rhythm, cymbals on their fingers tinkling and clicking– it was not meant to be a sexy dance, not meant to entice. 

Judging by the way the guards were leering, and pressing closer, they didn’t seem to care though. 

The women finished their dance, bowed and laughed over the flowers thrown their way, the coins tossed from the villagers purses, and gathered them all up before running quickly away. 

The beat that took over was strictly percussive, and Wade didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for a man to take center stage, dressed in loose black pants with a gold sash tied around his waist, and an open leather vest. 

And Wade almost choked on the bite of bread when the man started dancing. 

*******************

**[{{PETERS DANCE IS BASED ON THIS VIDEO}}](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dc29HV9aFCaM&t=ODg2NDM4YjIwMjVlYjE2MGY0ZjJmN2YzYTBhNThmNzAzOTZkNDQxZCxRZnA2TTJORQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AlxVlia9KThZQR8SGTEVLzw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fnot-close-to-straight.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172941933873%2Fgypsy-spideypool&m=1) **

**[{{PICTURE OF PETER}}](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Ff8%2Ff8%2F0d%2Ff8f80d3fe29c9b3d0d2490dd4ea456a9.jpg&t=ZWFhMDNlNzAyMjdjNDc1ODg4ZTAwNmEyODhiMTA4NDM0ZWI1Yjg0OSxRZnA2TTJORQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AlxVlia9KThZQR8SGTEVLzw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fnot-close-to-straight.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172941933873%2Fgypsy-spideypool&m=1) **

It wasn’t  _right_ for a man to move like that, lean hips twitching and shimmying, stomach flexing and undulating, the gold sash around his waist only accenting the tan of his skin and the sun-bleached nearly blonde strands in his hair. 

He had thick brown hair that curled behind his ears, brushing against the collar of the vest, and brown eyes that flashed as he laughed at the crowds reaction to his dance. He was beautifully, almost stunningly so, and Wade couldn’t tear his eyes away. Young too, probably no more than twenty and Wade was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his own age of nearly thirty four.  

And apparently Wade wasn’t the only one shocked to see the boy move like that, as the women of the village were nearly screaming over it, much to their husbands dismay. Coins and flowers, a shawl or two were tossed into the circle and still the boy danced, turning in a circle to show off how surprisingly tight the pants were over his butt. 

“ _Vakhāvā_.” one of the women snorted, and Wade tried not to smile.  _Show off_  was right, because with every minute longer of the dance, it was obvious the boy was just trying to make a scene, flexing comically, flicking his tongue out at the older girls to make them squeal, laughing as more flowers rained down around him. 

It was ridiculous. Distracting. Enticing. 

 _God_ Wade wanted more.

Then the boy dropped onto his knees and rolled his whole body, arching into a perfect curve before shimmying his way back to his feet— 

— well, Wade felt that like a shot straight to his cock, placing a hand over his lap to hide his sudden interest, eyes widening, licking at his lips as the Gypsy dancer turned sideways and cocked a hip out so his frame was highlighted by the fire as it twisted and turned, arms winding in the air around his head.

Ridiculous. Distracting. Enticing.  _Hypnotic_. 

Wade didn’t notice that his hood fell back when he leaned closer to watch, or at least he didn’t notice until one of the women around him gasped quietly and then he was jolted back to the moment, the spell of the Gypsy dancer broken in favor of hiding his face. 

It seemed as if the gasp had caught the dancer’s ear though too, somehow, over the sighs and cheers of the women and scoffing (and jealousy) of the men, because he turned then and locked eyes with Wade. 

Then his dance slowed, dropped lower, movements more fluid now, stomach rippling, hips moving as if he were  _fucking_ , tearing his vest off and tossing it to the ground, all without looking away. 

A younger woman next to Wade actually  _fanned_ herself, and Wade could appreciate the sentiment, feeling as if his hood and cape had never been this hot or this heavy, needing desperately to get away to do something with the heat rushing through him. 

The dance finally  _mercifully_ ended, the boy flinging his arms out in a dramatic boy and then disappearing to the cheers of the crowd.

Wade surprised himself with his next thought–  _I want to meet him_ – because it had been far too long since he had even taken himself in hand to find some relief, and longer  _still_ since he had been interested in another person, much less a man. In fact, Wade hadn’t been with a man since the night his father had discovered he and Cable together on his fifteenth birthday, and had beaten him black and blue before banishing Cable and his family. 

But something about this dancer drew him in, turned him inside out with  _wanting_ , and Wade could feel it clawing at the back of his throat. 

 _I want to meet him_. 

 _Just to talk_. 

“Can you introduce me to him?” Wade asked quietly of the woman who had given him food, and when she frowned at him, Wade casually turned his hand so she could see the signet ring marking him as royalty, as Lord of the castle.

“Ah.  _Zarūra_. Of course, my Lord.” She bowed obediently, but Wade could tell by the purse of her lips she wasn’t happy with it.

“ _Galabāta_.” he said awkwardly, stumbling over the pronunciation after so many years with out his mother to speak the language to him.”I only want to talk with him.”  

“Come then.” 

***********************

***********************

“Antonio.” The woman pushed aside a flap of a large tent and waved Wade through. “Someone to see you.” 

“Forgive the intrusion.” Wade ducked his head in deference to the leader of the Gypsies, and the dark haired man at the low table only snorted in derision. 

“When the Lord of the castle comes to see me, I cannot imagine it is good.” The man’s eyes were just as sharp as the boys had been, dark and deep, and right now, lit with anger. “Have you granted us sanctuary behind your walls only to run us out within hours? Tell me, what have we done that is so offensive?” 

“I haven’t come to–” 

“Cooking meals for our children? Allowing the girls to dance for the coins your villagers would give us?” 

“No, nothing like—” 

“We were loathe to stop here.” The Gypsy continued. “Having heard of the cruelty of the former Lord, but we were assured that the former  _lady_ of this castle had been Romany, and that her people were always welcome here.” 

“You’re Romany?” this came from the door of the tent, the dancer stepping through and flicking his eyes over Wade’s cloaked figure. “How did one of us come to be Lord of a castle?” 

“He’s not one of us.” The leader– Antonio?– interrupted. “He is Lord of the Castle, and currently holding our well being in his hand. What shall it be, my Lord. Shall I gather my family and take them away?” 

“No.” Wade shook his head again. “No, please. I only wanted an introduction to the dancer, and the woman brought me here to you.”

“You wanted to meet me?” The dancer flushed, looking pleased. “I wanted to meet you as well, the man who watched me so closely. Perhaps we can–” 

“You can do  _nothing_ , because the Lord is leaving.” Antonio’s voice dropped low and furious. “I am aware that your type is used to having it all  _given_ to you, but  _my son_  is not–” 

“Papa.” the boy said reproachfully. “Surely the Lord isn’t here to purchase me. Stop being so rude. He is only curious about me.” A bold gaze into Wade’s hood, obviously trying to see him better. “For good reason too, I am an interesting person.” 

“I do not trust nobles.” Antonio said with narrowed eyes. 

“I tend not to trust nobles either.” Wade said, and took a deep breath before pushing his hood back and letting Antonio see his face. 

“Oh my.” the boy whispered. “Would you look at that?” 

“Your father?” Antonio asked, words thick with sympathy, miming over his own face where the thick scar split Wade from forehead to jaw. “I heard he was a bastard.” 

“You heard correctly.” Wade replaced his hood, glancing uneasily at the boy, who was still staring with his mouth open. “It has been a long time since your people have sought safety behind these walls, I was only impressed by the boys dance–”

“I’m twenty three.” the dancer said in amusement. “Do not call me a boy. I am not a child, not dancing like  _that_ I would think. I only look young.” 

“–I see.” Wade didn’t let his relief show on his face. “I  was impressed with your dance and only wanted to meet you. Forgive the intrusion, I will see myself out. You and your family are welcome to stay as long as you want.” 

“Have you eaten?” the boy spoke up and Antonio groaned in annoyance. “Hush, Papa. My Lord, have you eaten? I could use a meal after my dance, would you share it with me?” 

“I have eaten.” Wade admitted, but then hopefully,. “But I would sit with you anyway?” 

“Peter.” Antonio glared. “Do not encourage this noble to–”

“He is one of us, Papa, hush. My Lord, come to my tent-”

“– _your tent?_!”

“Papa! Enough! Come to my tent and I will change–” Peter motioned down at his outfit. “And then we can eat.” 

***********************

“So. Your mother was Romany, My Lord?” Peter asked, flicking aside the tent cover and bringing Wade in along with him. “Funny, to see someone like us sitting so high and might.”

“Please, just call me Wade.” he sat gingerly onto the stack of bedding in the corner of the dancer’s personal tent, an old injury in his knee making the movement stiff. “And I never settled into noble life. My father blamed my mother’s side of the family for that.” 

“Well, you must call me Peter, instead of  _dancer_.” The boy– Peter– replied with a smirk. “And I am glad you never settled into noble life, otherwise I suppose I wouldn’t have had a  _choice_ over whether or not to spend time with you, hm?” 

Wade flinched a little at the implication in Peter’s question. “I’ve never thought to–”

“I believe you.” Peter shrugged it off, disappearing behind a changing screen with a pile of clothes and Wade tried his hardest not to stare at the slender silhouette behind the screen, stepping out of the dance pants and into a different set. “What happened to your face? Can I ask?” 

“You’ve already asked.” Wade surprised himself with how comfortable he already was with the Gypsy dancer, letting himself chuckle over Peter’s boldness.

“Indeed I have.” Behind the screen, Peter laughed, clear and sweet. “My Papa says I speak before I think, but he does the same and now he is leader of our camp, so it can’t be all that terrible of a trait.” 

“Charming in small doses.” Wade allowed. 

“Well, I’m quite a bit smaller than you, My Lord.” Peter popped out from behind the screen clad only in a fitted pair of pants that ended at his knees, several gold bangles around his ankle, drawing Wade’s eyes right to his feet, then up to shapely calves, strong thighs, to a bare stomach and chest lined with muscle, then further up to where Peter’s full lips were curled in a knowing smirk. “Is that a small enough dose?” 

Wade wanted to feel foolish for staring, but when Peter did a little shimmy and laughed it off, Wade only grinned– or tried to rather, the scar tissue not letting him. 

“Your face.” Peter said again, moving to a smaller box to pull several necklaces out and loop them around his neck, dangling distractingly against his bare skin. 

“My father–” Wade took a deep breath and touched the scar uncomfortably. “We had an argument and he threw a vase. It shattered against the wall, but flew out and hit me in the face.”

“And how did you retaliate?” Peter urged, fitting a few more bangles up his wrist. 

“Why would I retaliate?” Wade said. “And why the jewelry?” 

“It was all my mothers.” Peter said in explanation, fixing a gold hoop in his ear. “She loved it, I love it. And it keeps you staring at me, so why not?” 

He winked and Wade thought if he was a few years younger, he would have blushed over the dancer’s boldness.  

“Tell me what you did for retaliation.” Peter was suddenly right in Wade’s space, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in close to stare into Wade’s eyes. “You have Gypsy blood, do you not? And it runs hot and fierce and we–” Peter wet his lips slowly, purposefully. “We are not men to let someone hurt us, nor to let something we want slip through our fingers. So tell me, what did you do when he hurt you so badly?” 

“Nothing.” Wade said honestly, barely breathing when Pete lay soft fingers on the scar. “He was an old man, and he was already dying. I simply put him back to bed and let him die as he would.” 

“And how was that?” Peter pressed, smoothing his thumb over Wade’s cheek. “How did he die?” 

“Coughing up blood.” Wade whispered and Peter’s eyes widened. 

“The wasting disease? Consumption was it? A bad way to go.” 

“Which is why I didn’t need to take revenge.” 

“Mmmm.” Peter hummed softly and brought his hands up to rake through Wade’s hair, minding the edge of the scar that started just above his hairline. “You are sweeter than I thought. I expected someone so scarred to be cold man, hard and angry, not one who would carry his father back to bed instead of throwing him out a window.” 

“I am angry.” Wade admitted. “But maybe not as angry as I used to be.” 

“I see.” Peter slid onto Wade’s lap, straddling his legs confidently. “Would you like something to drink, My Lord? Some wine, perhaps. To make our night together warm and hazy.” 

“I only wanted to meet you.” Wade said then, when Peter’s gaze dropped to his lips. “I had no intention of–I mean, I should return to my rooms, and you should return to the campfire for something to eat.” 

“Would you like me to dance for you?” Peter suggested instead, eyes lighting wickedly over Wade’s sharp intake of breath. “A personal show, as a thank you for the Lord who was so kind to grant my family shelter?” 

“Peter–” 

“Or perhaps one for a fellow Gypsy?” Peter whispered. “More of a hands-on performance, a courting dance, if you like?” 

Wade didn’t answer– couldn’t answer– and Peter only grinned, sashaying away to pull a scarf from his trunk, one decorated with old coins that clinked and tinkled as he tied it around his waist. 

“A courting dance it is then.” 

*********************

The wine was sweet and strong, sweeter because Peter took a long drink and then thrust his tongue into Wade’s mouth to share it, stronger because Wade was half drunk on the feel of Peter in his arms, and the wine only added to it.

“Wade–” Peter giggled when Wade chased a kiss, tangling their tongues together and pressing Peter into the pillows. “For a man so hesitant to speak to a  _dancer_ you are mighty forward now.” 

Wade didn’t answer, too distracted by the drops of wine on Peter’s lips and the boy only giggled and took another drink to offer him more. 

“I’m not complaining, mind you.” Peter whispered, arching his back when Wade’s teeth found his neck. “But this is my first time so  _please_ , My Lord, please be—” 

“ _Your first time_?” Wade jerked away in horror, and Peter dissolved into laughter. 

“I was teasing!” he cried. “Surely you don’t think a man who dances like I dance has never been between a woman’s thighs or rolled over for a man who smiled just right?” 

“Good Christ.” Wade muttered, and when he hesitated, Peter lunged up and sealed their lips together again. 

“Don’t worry, Wade–” Peter practically purred the name as he hooked his fingers in Wade’s pants and began pushing them down. “You are a man who smiles  _just right_  for me.”  

*************************

*************************

Wade woke with a pounding head and blurry vision, and buried his face in the pillows to avoid the sunlight. 

“You are worrying about nothing, Papa!” Peter was arguing with his father who stood just outside the tent, and Wade wanted to fall through the floor when he realized Peter was only wearing a blanket wrapped low on his hips, a trail of love bites clearly visible from behind his ear and down his stomach disappearing below his dangerously thin blanket. 

“He asked to meet you, and then there and was supposed to be dinner and now he is waking up in your bed?” 

“Oh, is he awake?” Peter turned with a smile and jogged the few steps to the messy bed, dropping his blanket— and judging by the squawk Antonio made, probably flashing his father a bit of butt cheek– before diving beneath the blankets and pressing himself tight to Wade’s body. 

“Oh good morning, My Lord.” Peter crooned, and rattled off something in Romany that– again, judging by the noise Antonio made– was fairly vulgar and referenced their night together. 

“Peter.” Wade couldn’t resist the upturned lips and kissed Peter longingly. “Baby boy, I–”

“I love that.” Peter shivered dramatically and budged closer. “Say it again.” 

“ _Pi'ārē rabā_ , for the love of god do NOT say that again!” Antonio snapped. “My Lord, would you care to explain why–”

“Papa.” Peter gave a long suffering sigh. “You know it is my fault, I obviously seduced the innocent nobleman with my dancing. He could not help falling into my bed.” 

Wade opened his mouth to apologize, tried to discreetly search for his clothing, but Peter only laughed and shook his head. 

“There is a storm blowing in, we are here for at least three days. Leave me to my bed and my lover, Papa. I will be your responsible son again when we leave.” 

Antonio muttered something furious and threw up his hands, stomping away from the tent. 

“Maybe tonight, you can show me your rooms.” Peter suggest, touching gently over the scar. “And I will bring some cream to help with this. My Aunt has several remedies to ease the pain and lessen the scarring.” 

“Thank you.” Wade kissed his fingers. “But I’m afraid your father will have me drawn and quartered if I ask you to my rooms.” 

“Then don’t ask.” Peter’s eyes sparked. “Order me to your rooms, and Ill have no choice but to be obedient.” 

“I feel as if you are never obedient.” Wade countered. 

“Its my Gypsy blood.” Peter whispered, and his hand disappeared somewhere south of Wade’s waist. “I’m afraid I’m really quite wild.” 

“My Gypsy Wild?” Wade teased and then groaned when Peter’s hand closed hot and sure around his cock. 

“Your Gypsy Wicked.” Peter corrected. “Now come and play with me.” 


End file.
